Page 34 of Secrets Bared
It figured. Only a few weeks into her new life and all her discipline was dissolving. She’dneverdared sleep in when she was living with Sean, or things wouldn’t have gotten done. And she would have paid the price when he got home.
Guilt nagged at her for another reason as well. Katya had to take one of her kids to the doctor yesterday and she knew there wasn’t going to be anyone else to work the breakfast shift.
One blessing of small towns was that everything was so close. She’d barely gotten her car started before she was pulling up in front of the diner. When she spied Luke flipping the sign to “Open,” she skipped walking around to the back and just headed straight to the main door.
“I’m so sorry I’m late.” She hustled past him to the kitchen doors, unzipping her coat as she walked.
“You alright, Mags?”
“Just overslept,” she called out as she shoved her jacket and purse onto the hook next to the punch clock and clocked in.
Half an hour late. Damn, she felt terrible.
She turned to see him leaning against the wall, his hands shoved in his pockets, lean biceps on display. Damn he was unfairly attractive in that yellow uniform shirt. “I better go flip the chairs.”
“I’ll help.”
“You don’t have to do that. You have your own work to do.” She slid past him, heading back to the dining room.
As she swung the doors open, her stomach protested that she’d skipped breakfast at the Haven. Ugh, could he hear that?
Maggie hid her mortification and busied herself with flipping the chairs around the tables. Then she got to rolling the silverware she hadn’t got to the day before.
Luke exited the kitchen and came over to where she stood. “It’s Thursday, Mags. We don’t normally get busy on Thursdays.”
Maggie furrowed her brows. “But last Thursday was packed.”
He gave her a wry grin. “That’s because Mom got hurt and everyone wanted the tea.” His gaze was intense, and she nearly dropped the fork and knife she was attempting to roll. Maggie went back to watching her hands.
“How do you take your eggs?”
“Huh?”
“How do you like your eggs? Scrambled, over easy…”
“Um, scrambled, why?”
“Do you want pancakes or waffles?”
“Luke, you don’t have to make me breakfast.” When she turned, he’d hemmed her against the counter, one hand on either side of her.
He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her heated cheeks. Two fingers grasped an errant strand of hair and tucked it back behind her ear. Her gaze fell to his lips, outlined by his short, dark brown beard. Would it be coarse or soft? She could kiss him; it would only take leaning forward an inch. Would his hair leave red marks on her fair skin, proof that she’d kissed him? How would it feel between her legs? Her pulse pounded in her ears as the pads of his fingers trailed down her jaw, unwilling to let her go just yet.
For a moment, he was the very air she breathed. His face was all she could see. His arms caged her in, not to imprison but to keep her safe. Maggie wanted to bury her face in his neck and hide from the world.
That’s when her stomach growled again.
She groaned and averted her eyes. Luke chuckled.
“Pick one, Mags. Pancakes or waffles?”
“Waffles. With strawberries if we have any?”
His eyes danced with mischief. “You want whipped cream?”
She licked her lips and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Sure.”
He leaned in and whispered in her ear, her breaths coming faster. “Coming right up.” Then he gave her the most chaste peck on the cheek in the history of kisses and drew back from her.
